


The Curse of the Broken Vase (aka The One Where They Get Married and Nothing Goes Wrong)

by Rizandace



Series: Magic Curses [4]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Very Very Light Angst, Wedding, like barely angst, mostly just the boys being cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-18 18:37:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20317639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rizandace/pseuds/Rizandace
Summary: Everything had been going so well.Suspiciously perfect, in fact.In Quentin's experience, that kind of luck didn't last. And wouldn't it just be the irony of ironies, the cherry on top of the Trauma Sundae of his life with Eliot, if some catastrophe came swooping along at the eleventh hour and cursed their happiness away?





	The Curse of the Broken Vase (aka The One Where They Get Married and Nothing Goes Wrong)

**Author's Note:**

> In some of the reviews of previous stories in this series, people wondered what sort of sick, twisted nightmare I was going to put El and Q through on their wedding day. I fully intended on leaving the boys entirely alone for this special occasion, but this little idea wormed its way into my head. It's not a story about a curse. It's a story about two people who love each other dealing with what they've been through, and having a good, happy, trauma-free day.
> 
> It's almost painfully cute, but I'm actually rather fond of it... I hope you enjoy!

Quentin was pacing.

He was pacing, and he was tugging his hands through his hair, which he really _shouldn't_ be doing because it had actually taken a hairdresser an annoying amount of time to brush it out and tie it back, and apparently it was perfect now, even though Quentin couldn't really see how it was different from his normal lazy bun, but _whatever_.

There would be people, Eliot included, who would be annoyed with him for messing up his hair.

With an effort, he dropped his hand, and kept pacing.

This was stupid. He was stupid. He hadn't been nervous _once_ about this day, in the lead up to it. He had felt incredibly calm and steady about it. He hadn't even balked at the guest list or the decorations or the specifics of the ceremony, all of which were just about as ornate as one would expect from a wedding arranged by one Eliot Waugh, Groomzilla extraordinaire, and his Best Woman Margo Hanson, High King of Fillory and Master of Ceremonies, as she'd somewhat confusingly dubbed herself. It had been a terrible day when Margo had realized she could grant herself any title she chose, in her capacity as High King.

Quentin had taken it all in stride. He'd been so calm about it that his friends had started, paradoxically, to be worried about him. As the wedding day slid closer and closer, Julia started pulling him aside to ask him how he was doing. Alice was giving him weird looks. Margo kept threatening him to _keep him in line, _despite the fact that he'd been nothing but docile and cooperative. And Josh had spent his entire bachelor party (which included guests such as Fen, Margo, Julia, and Alice, but _not _Eliot, who had had a separate party from which Q had been banned), giving him sage advice about married life and then looking at him expectantly, as if he was hoping Quentin would suddenly break and reveal all of his fears and insecurities, so that Josh could fix them with wise words and tasty confections.

But why would he be nervous? Sure, a big, elaborate party where he was the center of attention was slightly daunting for an introvert like Quentin, but Eliot was such an attention hog that he wasn't really too worried about that. And he didn't have a single doubt about marrying Eliot. They'd already spent their life together once, and this time was already shaping up to be even better. There was absolutely no rational explanation for his shaky nerves, the way his stomach was twisting itself into knots, the pinch of worry giving him a headache right at the base of his skull.

Except one thing.

Everything had been going so well.

Suspiciously perfect, in fact.

In Quentin's experience, that kind of luck didn't last. And wouldn't it just be the irony of ironies, the cherry on top of the Trauma Sundae of his life with Eliot, if some catastrophe came swooping along at the eleventh hour and cursed their happiness away?

In stories, wedding were always big culminating events. If the story was a sitcom, there would be wacky hijinks but the wedding would ultimately take place, with the bride and groom far too happy about their impending wedded bliss to care about the comedic disasters that preceded it.

On the other hand, if the story was a drama, the wedding might be juxtaposed to some horror going on in some other character's lives, or there would be an ironic death scene immediately following it, white wedding dress spattered with blood, the heady atmosphere of triumphant happiness giving way to heartbreak and the twisted need for revenge.

He and Eliot were not a fucking sitcom, so... yeah. What did that tell you?

"Quentin? They're ready for you in about five minutes," Julia said. She poked her head around the door and smiled at him, her eyes shiny with excitement. "I can't believe you're _getting married_," she swooned at him, her eyelashes fluttering in delight. But then she paused, her forehead creasing, and she took a full step into the antechamber, where Quentin was still attempting to wear a hole into the carpeted floor. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," Quentin said, too quickly. "Or, no. I don't know. I think I'm freaking out?"

Julia closed the door quickly, leaving them alone in the small space. "_Why_?" she asked. "Did something happen? Because last night you were cool as a cucumber."

"Uh huh," Quentin said, swallowing. "But like - my life is a disaster, Jules."

Jules huffed out a breath of exasperated air. "Oh, boy. Is this a _me_ problem, or should I fetch Eliot?"

Quentin thought about that for a moment. He really didn't want to bring Eliot's mood down, today of all days. There was no reason his stupid neuroses should get in the way of his husband-to-be's happiness. But... he wanted Eliot. He wanted him like a kid who wants a security blanket. He bit his lip, looking at Julia in desperation. She smiled at him indulgently, then came over and hugged him tight for a moment.

"Stay here, Quentin. I'll send him in."

"Julia..."

"It's okay," she said. "I could probably talk you down off of this cliff, but Eliot should know what's going on before you two go in there." And then, as she turned around in the doorway - "You look smokin', Q. Eliot's not gonna know what hit him."

* * *

Eliot opened the door without knocking, slipping inside and closing it quickly, like he was trying to avoid being seen. "We're not supposed to see each other, Q," he said, laughter in his voice. "You couldn't wait _five minutes _to - " he paused, catching sight of Quentin's expression. The smile fell off his face. "What's wrong?"

Quentin just looked at him, a sudden lump in his throat. He loved him _so much_, but that had never been enough to keep either of them safe. Bad shit kept happening, no matter what he did, no matter how much he tried...

Eliot crossed the tiny room in two strides and gathered Quentin up in his arms. "Hey. _Hey_, what's going on, Q? Talk to me, please."

Quentin buried his face into Eliot's shirt front and breathed in his scent. "It's... God, El, we're cursed."

Eliot went stock still, and his hands tightened hard against Quentin's back. "What?" His voice was hardly more than a whisper.

Quentin pulled back to look at him and saw that the concern in his expression had shifted to blatant fear, and he groaned inwardly at his own stupidity. "No, I don't mean - not now, not specifically. Everything's fine. Everything's _fine_." He lifted his hands to frame Eliot's face, widening his eyes to impart his sincerity.

Eliot unfroze, slumping forward and leaning some of his weight against Quentin. "Jesus Christ, Coldwater."

"Sorry," he said. "Sorry, that was stupid."

"Uh, yeah," Eliot said, relief and annoyance mixing in his tone.

"But that's my point, El," Quentin said. "It was easy for you to believe we were facing down some sort of a disaster, because we always _are_. Something's always happening, something _bad_, and - "

"And what, you're afraid something's going to happen today? Right now?" Eliot asked. He stepped back and kept his hands on Quentin's shoulders, studying his face. "Any particular reason for this specific fear?"

"It's our wedding day?" he said, frowning. "It's... narratively apt?"

Eliot's eyes crinkled up and he sucked his bottom lip into his mouth like he was trying not to laugh. It made Quentin want to kiss him stupid. "Q," he chuckled. "We're not inside of a story. This isn't the culminating moment in some larger adventure. It's just us, standing up and saying stuff out loud in front of our friends that we already know to be true."

"Well that's romantic," Quentin grumbled.

"It _is_," Eliot insisted. "There's no reason to think anything bad is going to happen."

"There never is, but it always does."

"Always?" Eliot raised an eyebrow at him. "Do you think maybe you're over-exaggerating a little bit?"

Quentin straightened his spine and raised a hand, ticking off instances on his fingers. It was the same list that had been plaguing him all morning, running around loose in his head, impossible to ignore.

"I almost died from a Hedge curse, and you had to save me. And then _you_ almost died from those fucking mermaids and their Fragment bullshit, and I lost five years of my life in the bargain." Quentin was on a roll already, but he didn't miss the way Eliot flinched at that, the way he always did when Quentin's five year deal was brought up. He felt bad, but he couldn't stop now. "And then I got kidnapped, kind of sort of, and you ended up accidentally erasing your feelings for me, and if we want to go back even _further_, before all of that stuff, you got _possessed_ and I thought you were dead, and I nearly died like a dozen times trying to save you from that goddamn Monster, and - "

"Q," Eliot said, urgent, and Quentin was pretty sure it wasn't the first time he'd said it. "_Q_." He pulled Quentin forward again, holding him tight. His voice had gone rough. "I'm not going to let anything happen to you. _Ever_. I swear to you, I'll do whatever it takes, I - "

"That's _not comforting_," Quentin said, muffled into Eliot's shoulder. "I'm not worried about _me_, I'm - "

"I love you," Eliot interrupted, petting a hand through his hair. "We're okay, Q. We're really okay."

Quentin sniffed, burrowing deeper into Eliot. "You don't know that."

"Look, all of that stuff," Eliot said, pausing to take a deep, fortifying breath. "All of that stuff was - _awful_. Obviously. Terrifying and devastating. I usually try very hard not to think about all of the times I could have lost you, because if I did I might never stop crying." His voice had gone tight, like even now he was suppressing tears. "But we made it. We made it through all of that, and we're _here_. I just want to celebrate that with you."

"I know. I know that, but - El, it sucks, being scared all of the time."

"I know, baby. I know." Eliot's breath was warm against his forehead, and he pressed the lightest of kisses to his temple. "But come on, you're supposed to be the optimist, here."

"Well then we really _are _screwed," Quentin said. Eliot huffed out a laugh, and rubbed a hand up and down his back. It was unfairly comforting. They stood that way for a long moment, swaying slightly back and forth.

"Q, will you marry me?" Eliot said eventually, and it was Quentin's turn to laugh.

"I seem to recall agreeing to something of the sort, yes."

"I mean, will you marry me _right now_? Because there are a lot of people down the hall who came here to see just that, and you know I have an exhibitionist kink."

Quentin smiled and kissed the only bit of skin on Eliot he could reach, right above his collar. But then he sighed, scrunching his forehead together. He kind of hated himself for being his same old anxious self, on today of all days, but he also didn't want to walk into that room with Eliot and get married while still feeling fear thrumming through his veins.

"I really want to, El," he said. "Can we just - stay here for another minute?"

Eliot kissed his forehead again, and sighed, but he didn't sound too frustrated. But after a moment he froze again, and pulled back, narrowing his eyes contemplatively. "No."

"No?"

"No, I've had an idea. Come with me." And he grabbed Quentin's hand, tugging him towards the door.

"Wait, Eliot - " but Eliot wasn't steering him towards the throne room, where their guests were waiting for them to say their vows. Instead, he was turning the corner and pulling him farther along, to the ballroom where the reception was to take place.

Quentin let out a perfunctory grumble and followed along willingly enough. He lengthened his stride so they were walking next to each other, looking up at Eliot as he did so. He was fucking gorgeous, his hair curled to perfection, his outfit fine and luxurious and fitted just so. He had the tiniest hint of charcoal around his eyes, accenting the hazel, and Q could smell his best cologne, artfully applied so as to complement his natural scent without overpowering it.

He felt a small squirming of guilt in his stomach. He'd been so caught up in his head that he hadn't even appreciated the effort. "Hey, El?"

"Mm."

"You look really fucking good."

Eliot turned to look at him, his smile blinding. "Thank you. You look beautiful."

He put a hand on Quentin's lower back and steered him into the ballroom. Q had seen the plans, but he hadn't been in here when it was all set up before, and he stopped for a moment to stare at the splendor before him. There were several large round tables dispersed throughout the room, and a stage up front for live music, all of it draped in warm, darker colors that somehow didn't mute the light pouring in from the afternoon sun. The space in front of the stage was empty, ready for the dancing that would commence after dinner, and he could see unlit candles floating near the ceiling, reminding him of the Great Hall in _Harry Potter_. Not that Q would ever make that comparison out loud to Eliot or Margo - the candles were sure to look beautiful when lit, and if they knew where Quentin's brain had just gone, they'd nix the whole thing on principle.

Quentin could see several figures bustling around the room, moving empty boxes and straightening decorations, but Eliot ignored them, steering him towards one of the dinner tables with purpose.

"Eliot, what are we doing?"

Without a word, Eliot reached towards the center of the table and picked up one of the centerpieces, a large, ornate flower arrangement in a blown glass vase. He observed it carefully for a moment with a discerning eye, then turned to Q, winked, and dropped the vase from arm-height, directly onto the floor beside the table.

It shattered, glass flying everywhere and flowers tumbling out to splatter sadly in the puddled water from the vase.

"What the fuck?" Quentin jumped back, looking at Eliot in alarm. Maybe he _had_ been cursed. "Jesus, why did you - "

"Oh _no_, Quentin," Eliot said, completely straight-faced and grave. "We've been hit by the curse of the broken vase. Flowers, beautiful flowers that _sacrificed their lives_ to sit in this reception hall, are now strewn across the floor. There is water seeping into the linens. Guests might slip in the puddle, or grind petals into their dancin' shoes."

Quentin felt annoyed, and amused, in equal measure. "You're a dick."

"Yes, well. You should have known that going in. It's a little late to back out now," Eliot said. "I mean, you could always pull a runner, but then Margo would hunt your ass down and straight-up murder you, and I wouldn't be able to do anything to stop her."

Quentin smiled. Reluctantly. Very reluctantly. "Was there a point to this temper tantrum?" he asked, gesturing to the mess on the polished floor.

"Shouldn't I be asking _you_ that?" Eliot said, raising an eyebrow. "Now, come on. Break the curse." He pointed grandly to the broken vase and the tasteful purple and red flowers that had once been arranged so artfully.

"What?"

"You say we're bound to be cursed on our wedding day, so I cursed us. Fix it, Mr. Minor-Mending."

In that moment, Quentin quite possibly loved him more than he'd ever loved him before. But he had an image to maintain, so instead of throwing himself on Eliot and crying into his perfectly pressed suit jacket, he rolled his eyes and attempted a sardonic twist of his lips. "Why am I always the one who has to clean up your messes?"

Eliot just smiled at him, wide and genuine and loving, and gestured Quentin forth.

Quentin raised his hands and felt the pull of the broken vase, the strewn flowers and greenery. He could feel it calling to him, eager to be whole once again. With a few intricate twists of his fingers, the shattered glass pulled itself away from the floor and started to arrange itself. Another deft flick of the wrist, and the flowers started jumping up off of the floor and lifting themselves into the rapidly repairing vase. Even the water pooling on the floor and splattering the sides of the tablecloth was flying through the air in droplets, rejoining the flowers in the vase. It was a heady feeling. Magic always felt good, in some abstract way, but when Quentin was fixing something that had broken, it felt _right_ in a way that nothing else really could. There was a power to it, an authority and confidence that he'd lacked for most of his life. It always made him feel calm, and in control, and _worthy_. And Eliot knew that.

Right as Quentin's mending came to an end, the final shard of glass clicking into place, the last petal reattaching itself to its stem, he felt a tug on the vase, and knew that Eliot was taking it from him with his telekinesis. He let Eliot's mind take the weight from him and carry the newly repaired centerpiece through the air, watched as it floated evenly and came to a rest in the exact center of the unblemished tablecloth.

"Excellent," Eliot said, with a curt nod. "Like nothing ever happened."

"But something did," Quentin said, quiet. He suddenly wasn't in the mood to maintain the jocular and somewhat antagonistic tone of the last few minutes. "Thank you."

Eliot looked at him, his own expression softening into something impossibly fond. "You're welcome, Q." But then his lips quirked up and he bit his lip in amusement. "And anyway, I always knew you were going to be a high-maintenance husband."

"_You_," Quentin repeated, smiling so big he knew his eyes were crinkling up in that way that Eliot loved. "Are a _dick_."

Eliot held out a hand for him and Quentin took it. "We can't leave our adoring public waiting, Q. This wedding cost a fucking _fortune, _and you know me, I demand perfection in all things."

"Sure, that's why you're marrying me," Quentin joked, and Eliot's eyes widened in earnest affection.

"Yes, Q. Yes it is." He stepped back around to face him and trailed a hand down Quentin's cheek. Quentin, his heart pounding with an overwhelming, desperate love, lifted his head automatically for a kiss. But Eliot pressed their foreheads together for a moment and then pulled away, pushing Q's face away when he tried to follow. "I'm not kissing you today until you're my husband. You've got to leave me _something_ of tradition."

And as Quentin sputtered in protest, Eliot took his hand and tugged him out of the room. Towards their friends, towards their wedding, towards their future.

It went off without a hitch.

**Author's Note:**

> I am working on a couple of additional ideas for full multi-chapter stories, in the line of the first three in this series. I'm pretty excited about them, but it might be a while since the next one is a little more plot-intensive and is taking me a lot longer to outline and draft. I'd love to gauge people's interest levels in these stories as a continuing series - how many of you have read them all? Do you prefer to think of them more as stand-alone?
> 
> Thank you so very much for reading, I love you all!


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